The Gallery and the Grounded
by Inks Inc
Summary: Neal simply has to attend a once in a life time exhibit, outside of his radius. Peter says no. Neal isn't familiar with the concept, besides culture is a basic requirement, right? Warning - Contains: Spanking.


"Three miles Peter. Please, that's all I'm asking for, three lousy miles." Neal Caffrey was the ultimate _woe is me_ poster boy when he wanted to be, and was currently lounging and sulking in the chair in front of his handlers desk, pouting angrily. This caused FBI Agent Peter Burke to grind his teeth in irritation, he'd been listening to his CI's constant whining for a solid hour and his patience was wearing extremely thin.

Fixing his maddening charge with a stern glare, Peter kept his cool. "Neal. This is the last time I'm going to enable you on this point. The answer is no. No you cannot. No you may not and no you will not have an extension on your radius to go to this...this, fancy _whatever you call it_ art exhibit. You are on a work release programme, not an all inclusive package holiday. You are _not_ going. You keep this attitude up and you'll be spending the weekend working a stack of cold cases to be on my desk Monday morning. Now, that's the end of the matter and I do not want to hear another word about it!"

Shooting a glare at Peter, Neal stood abruptly and stalked out of the older man's office and flounced angrily down at his own bull pen desk. _This is so unfair_ he thought to himself bitterly, as he surveyed Jones and Diana's empty desks. _Of course Harvard boy and Teachers Pet get the day off in addition to their weekend to go and do whatever they want_ he seethed mentally. Jones had asked Peter to take a day to meet up with some old college buddies and take a three day road trip and Diana had wheedled her way into her own long weekend to go upstate with her girlfriend. Peter had of course approved these requests in a heartbeat. Neal wanted to go to the unveiling of a precious and never before displayed Donatello piece and he wanted to go desperately. However, the snag was the hosting gallery was firmly outside of his allowed radius, and Peter wasn't relenting. Turning moodily to his computer, Neal set to work on yet another tedious report, daydreaming of a life without anklets, radiuses, and with the way he felt about his handler right now, _without Peter Burkes._

Peter rubbed his eyes tiredly and glanced at his watch, it was gone six and he could legitimately call this an early finish and go home and surprise El. Standing up and shrugging into his suit jacket, he flicked out the lights of his office and made his way out of the White Collar division offices. Passing by Neal's desk he saw the younger man was still working on a pile of reports he'd set him. Sighing, Peter perched on the side of Neal's desk.

"C'mon Neal, let's call it a day. You want to come over for dinner? I think El's made some of her lasagne and you know how she loves to load you with carbs" Peter asked in chipper tones. Barely glancing up from his monitor, Neal shook his head slightly. "No can do Peter, work comes first and all that. Personal lives must wait in line, for _some_ of us anyway" he said with sarcastic politeness.

Frowning in annoyance, Peter felt the colour of his neck rise. "Cut the crap Caffrey or I promise you you'll be in for a much more unpleasant weekend than just missing out on some stupid art gallery visit."

Hearing a Donatello being referred to in such an outrageous manner caused Neal to dispense with what little self restraint he was clinging to. "Oh I'm so _sorry_ that my tastes don't revolve around baseball, beer and a golden retriever Peter. Oh here's an idea though, perhaps I could acclimate to Jones and Diana's hobbies instead, seeing as you know, that seems to get on your good side."

Peter stared at the tantrum throwing kid in anger. A quiet anger. This was always the type that boded the worst for Neal. Taking a moment to compose himself, he glared at his headache of a charge. "Wait here, do not move" he instructed the now slightly breathless CI, in a dangerously level voice. With that, he removed himself from Neal's desk and strode quickly up to the next floor, which housed the archives office. Sighing in relief that his favourite office clerk was on duty, Peter made his way to the little glass window and smiled a warm greeting. "Evening Joanne, could I trouble you for a considerable quantity of cold cases please? As old as you like."

Chucking, Joanne opened the top drawer of a bulging file cabinet and pulled out a hefty stack of cases dating back to the early 90's. Plopping the heavy pile down in front of Peter she grinned. "What's he done this time then?" knowing exactly who the extremely boring cases would be winging themselves to.

"Oh the usual" Peter replied wearily "refuses to accept the word _no_ isn't actually an alternate university based concept. Looking at the sizeable tower of files in front of him, Peter grimaced but made his decision. "Double this please Joanne."

Looking at Peter in surprise the elderly office clerk hesitated slightly, like most women she simply adored that young rogue Neal Caffrey and his beautiful smile. "Ah Peter, you don't want to be hard on the boy" she said in a placating tone, "I'm sure he'll learn his lesson with this lot" she reasoned gesturing to the already hefty load in front of the clearly irate agent.

"I wish he would Joanne, but he frankly won't. I don't take any pleasure in doing this, so please don't make me feel any worse." Looking at the sadness that had begun to creep into Peters eyes, the knowledgeable lady knew there was no hope in pleading Neal's case. The kid was on his own. She turned and dug through the more than obliging filing cabinet and drew another bundle, roughly commensurate in size with the already dished out stack. Seeing that there was no way Peter could carry the paper tower loosely, she stacked them neatly into a filing cardboard box and slid the box towards the waiting agent, it was far too heavy for her bones to lift.

"Thanks Joanne" Peter said appreciatively.

"No problem Peter. Now mind you don't kill that dear boy altogether" she called after his retreating back warningly.

Peter sighed sadly. That was never a promise he could make.

Making his way successfully back to his reprobate's desk, and sweating slightly under the weight of the box in his hands, Peter placed the box sharply down on Neal's immaculate surface top. The younger man looked at in alarm, the cockiness and cheekiness no longer evident.

Fixing the now mercifully quiet kid with a severe stare Peter began the inevitable lecture. "I gave you more than adequate warning Neal. I warned you that if you kept up that attitude, you'd regret it. So here's the regret. You, young man, far from gallivanting off to any exhibit or whatsit, are grounded for the weekend. I've organised the readjustment of your radius. It is now zero miles. You are not permitted to leave Junes, at any time for any reason. Now, I'm not uncaring, I know how that mind of yours frazzles when it's not occupied. So here's your new occupation. I want these cold cases reviewed, condensed and theorised, and I want it all done by hand. I want them on my desk Monday morning, nine am sharp. Do you understand me?" he concluded sternly.

Neal looked up, eyes full of unspoken pleading. "Peter no! C'mon man, I'm sorry" he whined.

"Drop it Neal, I don't want to hear any of your excuses, all I want to hear from you is that you've understood your new weekend plans?"

Neal, knowing Peter in this mood was not to be messed with, nodded glumly.

"Good. Then get your stuff together, I'm bringing you home now and you'll remain there till I pick you up for work on Monday morning. I don't want to hear a single word about it, just do as you're told for once" he added sharply as he saw Neal foolishly open his mouth to protest.

The ride to Neal's apartment was tense and silent. Neal sat as far away from Peter as was possible in the confines of the agents' car, his head turned out the window and petulance radiating from him. Glancing at the sulking kid out of the corner of his eye, Peter sighed. He knew there was no point in trying to draw conversation from the younger man in his current, hard done by mood. Pulling up outside June's impressive manor a few moments later he killed the engine and waited patiently for Neal to get his stuff together.

As Neal balanced the weighty box under his arm and made to open the passenger door, Peter, who always hated to leave things on a bad note, said gently "I'll see you Monday ok buddy?" He winced as Neal without response, got out and slammed the car door shut and made his way into his home without a backwards glance at his handler. Rolling his eyes, Peter restarted the car and made his own way home thinking about the all the grey hairs the kid was causing him.

Walking through his front door, looking forward to seeing his wife Peter was surprised to find the house in darkness. Flicking on the lights, he saw a note on the table. Quickly scanning it, his face fell. El had been called away to some party planning emergency and had to travel, not expecting to be back until Monday or Tuesday. _Great_ he mumbled to himself glumly. Collapsing on the couch, he scratched Satchmo's ears who had come to welcome him, tail wagging furiously. _So much for a good Friday night_ he told the dog miserably, _I got a kid who hates me and a wife who's deserted me._ Shaking his head at his own melodrama, Peter settled into the recorded game and quickly lost himself in a scathing criticism of his favourite team's performance.

Neal sat in a pool of anger at his dining room table observing the mountain of work that was in store for him. Dropping his head in his arms he made a split second decision. _He was going to that god damned exhibit if it killed him._ Fishing around in his pocket, he found his phone and dialled an ever obliging Mozzie. Thirty minutes later, his partner in crime had arrived. Ten minutes after that, they had hatched a plan.

Saturday morning dawned bright and dewy, and Neal was up like a lark. He was like a child at Christmas, the thoughts of being within a breath of along lost Donatello made his academic and criminal mind coincide in a beautiful, yet dangerous manner. Excitedly drawing out the reception jammer that Mozzie had surprised him with, he again marvelled at how well the timing of Mozzie's breakthrough and Peter's unjust treatment of him had played out. Taking a deep breath he flicked Mozzie's creation on and hearing the reassuring buzzing sound emanating from it, plucked the key to his anklet that he had long since lifted from an unsuspecting agent from his pocket. The key had been useless until now, as any removal of the anklet without prior approval would send an alert signal instantly. Gulping, Neal placed all his trust in his long time friend and quickly unlocked the anklet, holding his breath he studied it for a few moments.

 _The light remained resolutely green_. Grinning from ear to ear, Neal cajoled June's pug whom he had commandeered for his little jaunt over to him. Feeding the happy dog a treat, Neal quickly fixed the anklet around the dogs' neck, where it sat comfortably as a second collar of sorts and seemed to cause the dog no inconvenience. _Now where my little furry friend goes, Peter will think I go_ he thought smugly. While he would be admiring the artistic awe that was Donatello, his anklet signal would show him in his apartment like a good little CI learning his lesson not to be naughty.

Beaming like a Cheshire cat, Neal checked his reflection in the mirror once more. He wanted to leave in plenty time to get to the exhibit to get a prime viewing point. Rubbing the dog affectionately, he set out water and food for him and turned to leave. "Thanks for this by the way" he called over his shoulder to the bemused pug, and then galloped down the stairs, out the front door and into sweet freedom.

A few miles away, Peter awoke from a deep sleep and made his way wearily to the kitchen in search of coffee. After considerable caffeine consumption, he decided to take Satchmo for an early morning walk. He hated the house when El was away; it always felt wrong without her.

Neal felt a tingling sensation spread throughout his whole body as he surveyed the masterful portrait before him. Each brushstroke spoke a thousand words to the young man. Out of respect for the genius that was Donatello, Neal tried earnestly to refrain from examining the exhibition with a criminal eye, but already he had clocked various subtle weaknesses in the security afforded to the timeless classic. Drinking in the culture around him Neal grinned as he realised he had several hours left of the exhibit before it closed, and even after that being anklet and fancy free, the night would still be young. _Very young._

Peter let his beloved Satchmo back into the house and quickly showered and changed into his trademark baggy t-shirt and jeans. Wondering what to do for the day, he aimlessly flicked through the channels on his widescreen TV. Seeing that there was no decent sporting fixture of any kind playing for the day he sighed. El always made the weekend plans. He had rung around a few of his old college friends but they were all busy with their respective partners. Glancing disinterestedly through the morning newspaper, Peter suddenly had an idea. He could visit Neal and see how he was getting on. A part of Peter felt slightly bad at how hard he'd been on the kid. He could bring him some of that god awful sushi he liked for lunch as a peace offering. Feeling quite pleased with himself for his _Neal friendly_ idea that would usually have been forced on him by his more knowledgeable wife, Peter bid adieu to a happy and panting Satchmo and made his way out.

Forty minutes later and armed with an armful of repulsively raw sea life, Peter found himself tapping on his CI's apartment door. June and her granddaughter were away for the weekend, but Peter had long since been given a key. When after a few moments there was no response, Peter frowned and knocked again. No answer. There was however a barking and squawking pug to be heard scraping manically at the door. Beginning to feel worried Peter knocked again, hoping Neal wasn't ill or in any way in need of assistance. When there was again no response from inside, Peter quickly tried the handle. The door was locked. _Why would he lock himself in, in the middle of the day_ Peter thought in a growing panic as he reached again into his pocket. Finding the key that opened Neal's apartment, Peter quickly unlocked the unanswered door and strode into the apartment.

A happy and moderately overweight pug dog launched himself at Peter in greeting, and as Peter tried to gently fend him off he both felt and saw the green light blinking, FBI issue anklet hanging absurdly around the friendly dogs' neck. A rage began to rise up in the seasoned agent. A rage so pure he had to sit down, which the yapping canine used to his full advantage, snuggling himself happily down in the visitors lap. Automatically reaching out to stroke the dogs ears, Peter leant back into the sofa and ground his teeth in ire. _He was going to absolutely kill that god damned kid_. Knowing _exactly_ where his soon to be deceased CI was currently located, Peter fed the sushi to appreciative dog and stormed out of the house.

Some miles away and some time later, an oblivious Neal happily chatted with likeminded people about the relative merits of the piece they had all gathered to appreciate. A staggeringly beautiful blonde waitress passed him, carrying a tray of mouth watering caviar. She cast him a suggestive look which Neal returned in vigour. As she turned to walk towards a group of equally beautiful waitresses, Neal had to turn on the spot to get a better vantage point. As he craned his neck subtly to check out if she was still checking him out he sighed as an outrageously casually dressed man, with his back to him was blocking his otherwise spectacular view.

Huffing, he turned his gaze back to his other option for spectacular viewing. As the intrigued young man stared intently at the wonderful exhibit, he was rudely jerked out his artistic daydream by a piercing pain in his upper arm. Looking up in surprise and wincing, he paled. He paled a deathly, _rigor mortis has set in_ pale. The casually dressed man that had obscured his view of the pretty waitress, was now obscuring his ability to scout an emergency exit. Looking into the eyes of the man that held his upper arm in a razor vice grip, Neal stammered nervously "uh hey Peter, come to see the Donatello? It's a masterpiece"

Without a single word, Peter marched Neal out of the gallery by his arm. Neal for the first time in his natural born life knew better than to protest. Upon reaching his parked car, Peter physically placed his soon to be earthly departed CI in the passenger seat and slammed the door shut. Sliding into the drivers' seat he still didn't so much as glance at the slightly trembling Neal and kicked started the car into life. Ten minutes later, no words had been spoken and the silent car had pulled up outside Neal's place.

Neal looked at Peter in tentative trepidation, unsure of whether or not he was supposed to leave without being told. Peter answered this unspoken question by exiting the car, and crossing to the passenger side. He yanked the door open angrily and to Neal's intense embarrassment, unbuckled the younger mans seatbelt and resuming his pincer like grip on his upper arm, hauled the miscreant out of the car and right up the steps into the imposing manor.

Peter didn't even relinquish his hold of Neal's now throbbing arm in the privacy of June's foyer, merely marching the silent kid up the stairs without a syllable. Foraging for his key to Neal's apartment, Peter kept his grip on his arm and opened the door with one hand. Pushing the CI into his own apartment, Peter shut the door behind them. In complete silence, he propelled Neal by the arm so that he was left standing face first into the nearest corner and only then relinquished his hold.

When Neal got over the relief of feeling blood resume flowing in his upper extremities, he realised the childishness and complete newness of his situation, Peter had never put him in the freaking corner before and he found his voice. "Peter. I know you're mad but is this really necessary?" he said attempting to sidle out of his corner based position, turning to face the seething agent.

Peter who had been just about to sit down, crossed the room in three strides. Grasping Neal by the shoulder he spun him quickly around and landed three successive resounding swats across his backside causing him to yelp in pain and surprise. Resuming his stranglehold on Neal's upper arm once more, causing the younger man to hiss, he placed him firmly back in the corner. Delivering another searing swat to the CI's posterior he spoke for the first time. Well, hissed for the first time, to Neal's back.

"Neal George Caffrey. I am warning you. I do not want to hear a single word out of you. Not a syllable. I don't even want to hear you breathe. You are going to stand here, with your nose in this corner until I tell you otherwise. You are going to use this opportunity to think about what you've done today. You're going to think hard. Trust me when I tell you, that when I inform you that you can take your nose _out_ of this corner you're going to god damn wish I'd let you build a cave for yourself in it. Is that clear?"

A war of historic proportions was raging within Neal. An epic confrontation between self preservation and self appreciation. Groaning, Neal allowed self preservation to effectively checkmate the queen of self appreciation and nodded his head glumly. "Yes Peter" he said quietly, leaning his head miserably against the cold wall before him, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Peter satisfied with this answer made his way wearily over to the couch and slumped down on it. _He's putting years on me_ he thought to himself grimly as he surveyed his recalcitrant headache in the corner, his tousled black hair hanging over his eyes due to his slumped stature. About to snap at Neal to stand up straight, Peter bit his tongue. He needed to calm down, he couldn't be fair to the boy when he was like this, which is the main reason he had put him in the corner in the first place. Glancing around the apartment, he spied a discarded sports section from a recent newspaper and began perusing it whilst attempting to soothe his agitated nerves.

Neal soon began fidgeting in the corner. _I've been here for at least ten years surely_ he thought to himself despairingly. Not daring to glance back at his handler, he knew he had to bite the bullet and face the facts of what he'd done. He'd been deliberately fighting having an honest look at himself and his decisions, because he knew that the fuming man behind him had every right to throw him back in jail and throw away the proverbial key, but as Neal hung his head further, he knew that Peter would fight tooth and nail to never let that happen. He'd put his own career on the line first, and had done just that in the past. He could have thrown all that away in a toddlers' tantrum because he didn't get his own way, and decided to take what he wanted anyway. Closing his eyes slowly, Neal realised he'd let his handler, and more importantly his friend down badly, yet again.

Twenty minutes later Peter had calmed down considerably and in his extensive experience of having to deal with Neal's discipline in the past, knew he could be fair and proportionate towards the kid now. Glancing at the amazingly silent and compliant Neal he let out a tired breath. He never ever believed his own father when he had told him on the occasions that he had cause to tear up his butt that it caused him more pain than had radiated through the young Peter's backside. Looking at the slumped kid in the corner, Peter realised with a pang that his father had been as right as it was possible to be. He hated punishing Neal, the kids' puppy dog eyes ought to be illegal. Pulling himself together, he cleared his throat.

"Alright Neal, you can come out now" he said, adopting a firm and calm tone of voice. The one El maddeningly referred to as his "Neal voice."

Neal slowly prised himself out of his now familiar corner and unwillingly walked to the front and centre position the older man was pointing to, right in front of his seated position on the couch. Neal didn't raise his eyes to look at Peter and squirmed uncomfortably as he felt Peter's stern gaze on him regardless.

"Get those eyes up Neal, you know the drill."

Neal in extreme reluctance drew his piercing blue eyes level with Peter's warm brown ones and saw as expected, disappointment and anger in them.

"Before I even think about dealing with you Neal, I need to know how you managed to slip your anklet. I am asking you for your honesty. I will know if you're not giving it to me. If you indeed do not give it to me, than I will have no choice but to refer this matter to Hughes and let it be dealt with officially" Peter said. He said it in the fervent hope that Neal wouldn't call his bluff, as much as he could happily strangle the kid he would never turn him into Hughes where there was even a sniff of another option.

Neal nodded and answered immediately, to Peter's slight surprise. He explained truthfully about the frequency disrupter and the key he had long since lifted. He however left out the part about Mozzie's involvement, making it sound like the creation of the disrupter was his own doing or had fallen magically out of the sky. Peter held his tongue, Neal was an artistic genius for sure, but Mozzie was the technical master. Peter decided not to press the issue as he wasn't about to punish Neal for protecting his friend the way he knew Neal would do for him. He however made a mental note to have a very stern word with Mozzie later.

"Bring me disrupter and key please, and that dog of June's, I shut him in the bedroom" Peter ordered calmly and watched as Neal did as he was told. When he returned with a salivating dog in one hand, and a small device and key in the other, Peter frowned in concentration. He needed to get the anklet back on Neal, and he needed to do it with no alert being fired.

"Are you sure that this will prevent the anklet from signalling when I remove it from the dog?" Peter questioned anxiously, gesturing at the device Neal had turned on. When Neal nodded in the affirmative, Peter drew a deep breath and slipped the key into the anklet being sporting by the oblivious dog and quickly removed it. The light stayed mercifully green. "Leg, now" he demanded of the silent Neal, who again complied without protest. Slipping the ankle back on its' rightful owner, Peter pocketed the device and the key, resolving to get a new anklet for peace of mind.

Looking at the resolutely quiet Neal in exasperation, Peter said wearily "do you need the lecture Neal or do you know why what's about to happen is happening?"

"No Peter I don't need the lecture, I know why its' happening" he replied softly, squirming under Peter's appraising stare.

Knowing that the kid had finally been self aware enough to realise the stupidity of what he had done Peter said firmly "alright then, let's get this over with."

Neal nodded and slipped of his designer jacket, throwing it over a nearby rack and began to make his way over to the dining room table where Peter had strapped him many times before. In the Burke household Peter would use the guest room and in the office the conference room, when he decided Neal was in need of some corrective intervention. Neal cringed as he realised he had a specific punishment spot in each of the places he spent the most time.

As he was just about to place himself over the table he was surprised when Peter said gently "sorry Neal, not over there I'm afraid."

Turning around the face the older man in confusion, Neal's face fell almost comically when he saw him placing a straight backed dining chair in the middle of the living room floor.

"No Peter, please… please not that" he whined instantly, completely forgetting for a moment how guilty he felt. "I'm sorry, I swear. Please."

Ignoring his CI's protests, Peter sat calmly on the chair and beckoned to Neal with his finger. "Come here Neal. Now".

"Peter c'mon! I'm really sorry, you know I am but that's not necessary surely. I'll never do it again I swear on Bellini's grave, cross my heart and hope to die!" he wheedled, drawing a dramatic cross across his heart and pulling out puppy eyes that would put even the most seasoned poodle to shame.

Gritting his teeth, Peter threw the pleading kid a warning glare. "Neal. You have two options here. Let me outline them for you. Option one, you get your ass over here now. I strongly advise you to go with this option. Now, option two, I come over there and get you. If you choose to go for door number two, I will bend you over that table as you would prefer and strap your backside, but you will be coming straight back over here afterwards to receive your spanking from scratch. Your call kid."

Dropping his head in defeat, Neal peered through the curtain of dark hair that fell into his eyes and gave one last ditch effort in saving himself. "Please" he said softly. "Please Peter, you know how much I hate it that way, I'll behave from now on, I promise I will."

The suddenly childlike and vulnerable demeanour of his miscreant, pierced Peter's anger and his heart causing him to sigh sadly. Neal looked exactly like a young boy pleading with his father to stop being cross with him. _He might as well be_ thought Peter silently, as his paternal feelings for the younger man conflicted within him. Wanting to protect, but having to punish was an unpleasant dilemma, and one that Peter had grown accustomed to over the years since Neal had come crashing headlong into his life. Shaking his head firmly, but with a much kinder tone Peter replied "Neal, please choose option one buddy."

Conceding that there was just no way out of it, Neal reluctantly made his way over to his sitting handler. Peter very infrequently chose this method of punishing Neal, knowing how much Neal despised being put over his knee like a child. Peter therefore basically reserved the measure as a "serious offence" repercussion. He knew that this fact alone would let Neal know he was in for a seriously unpleasant time. As Peter watched the kid making a meal out of crossing the relatively small room, he waited patiently. When he came close enough, he reached out and took a firm grip of the younger mans wrist and placed him quickly over his knee. Ironically Neal fit perfectly over Peter's lap like he was made for it, deciding not to mention this fact to his already sniffling in self pity CI, Peter merely wrapped a tight arm around his slim waist.

"Why are we here Neal?" he asked firmly, never wanting to have to repeat this particular lesson again. As Neal's face was currently inches away from the floor his response was slightly muffled, but unfortunately for him Peter's keen ears caught every word of it.

"Because I forgot to pick up your shirts from the drycleaners dear?" Neal replied with sarcastic impertinence, his self pity causing his cheeky streak to shine through at the most inopportune time.

Peter glared down at the back of his hard headed menace in annoyed surprise, _this god damned kid never knows when to cut his losses_ he thought angrily. "Right, that's it. Up. Now" he instructed, releasing his hold on his waist. Neal, who presumably couldn't believe his luck bounded off of Peter's lap quicker than a hare and flashed his typically smug _I guess I win_ smile.

"Wipe that smirk off your face this minute, the only thing you've bought yourself from your cheek is a little less protection Neal." When the delinquent merely looked at him in confusion, Peter ground his teeth. His patience was again starting to wear thin. "Drop the pants Neal, right now."

It was Peter's turn to smirk when the smug look instantly vanished off Neal's face and he held up his hands in an innocent gesture. "Peter…I was just joking, the mood called for a little levity!" he said with his eyes round with feigned innocence.

"Pants down right now Neal, or I do it for you. You have three seconds."

Shooting the agent a deathly stare Neal fumbled aimlessly and painstakingly with his belt. Seeing in exasperation that the kid was blatantly stalling, Peter held three fingers in the air, beginning a silent countdown. Neal scowled but finally did as he was told. Well, partially. Wasting no time Peter hauled him back over his knee, pulling down the boxers that Neal had seen fit to leave up in the process. Neal stiffened angrily in response, but seemed to have finally adopted the art of keeping his mouth shut. Wrapping an arm tightly around the CI's waist once again, Peter decided to refrain from giving the headstrong young man any more options to mouth off, and set to work on turning the currently pale bare bottom across his lap a fiery red.

Using the considerable breadth of his hard hand, Peter systematically spanked Neal in a steady rhythm with no let up in between swats. He didn't lecture, preferring to let his stinging hand do the talking. The bottom underneath his unrelenting hand deepened tone from pale to dusty pink in a matter of minutes, Peter concentrated on ensuring that he covered every inch of Neal's backside, frowning as he did so. Lifting his leg slightly and tipping the currently stoic and silent kid forward gently, Peter exposed and addressed the tender sit spots.

Drawing his arm back he brought his hand down in a firm volley of swats on the tender skin of Neal's upper thighs that met the curve of his now very warm bottom. As Peter suspected, this caused Neal to drop the stoicism and begin to squirm slightly. Slight squirming soon turned to extreme squirming. Anticipating this, Peter calmly adjusted the attempted escapee back into prime position over his knee and strengthened his hold around his trim waistline. Satisfied Neal couldn't move substantially and that his hand wouldn't land anywhere but his posterior and cause him non transient damage, Peter settled into another tempo of searing swats distribution.

Neal silently hissed as the stinging pain in his rear began to mount. He never could keep still and quiet for very long, no matter how bravely he attempted to take a punishment at Peter's hands. At Peter's troublingly experienced hands. Feeling his angry handler start a fresh round of swats over an already well spanked area at the top of his backside, Neal let out the first notes of whimpering and cursed himself furiously for talking back and losing his warm up portion of the spanking over his pants.

When Peter worked his way down his backside for what felt like the hundredth time, tears sprang up in Neal's eyes as he knew his sit spots were next in the firing line. True to form, the hard hand came crashing down on the sensitive skin a mere minute later, and Neal dropped his head further and began to cry in earnest.

Peter felt Neal's torso lose its rigidness and start to go limp over his knee and heard him begin to cry heavily. It was always at this point that Peter wavered in his resolve, wanting nothing than to pluck the silly kid off his knee and into a hug. Putting aside his own emotions, Peter continued to bring his hand down over and over again on the now crimson bottom of his CI. Swallowing his reluctance, he again added a deeper coat of red to the boys already well spanked sit spots, knowing that Neal would be feeling this spanking for a considerable time when he sat down.

As Neal began positively howling, Peter both knew and was relieved that the spanking was coming to close. Starting from the top of the kids' backside once more, he systematically delivered one last all over round of hard, stinging swats. Groaning inwardly, he tipped Neal gently forward for the last time and brought his leathery hand down hard in rapid succession in a flurry of fiery and smarting blows. Neal was no longer howling, having subsided into silent racking sobs. Delivering one last swat, Peter ended Neal's admittedly harsh spanking and his hand instinctively went immediately to the small of his back and he began rubbing it gently.

"It's ok Neal, shhh all over now buddy" he said gently "you did great, I'm proud of you."

Neal, for his part began to bring his emotions into check. Sniffling, but no longer weeping he mumbled out softly "can I get up now please?" Removing his hand from the kid so he could stand, Peter guided him up gently by the shoulder. Standing with him, he turned to give him some privacy through the guise of putting the chair back in its place, as Neal yanked back up his boxers and pants hissing through his teeth.

When he turned around to appraise how Neal was doing, Peter felt the familiar pang as he surveyed the young man. His normally pristine hair was loose around his face, and in his eyes. He was standing still and rubbing a hand over his still teary eyes, whilst staring forlornly at the ground. Moving closer to him, Peter gently placed a finger under the contrite mans chin and tenderly tipped it up, feeling the familiar guilt as he surveyed the watery eyes looking back at him.

"How you doing bud?" he asked anxiously.

Neal stared at him for a few moments without answering and Peter was beginning to grow alarmed. He was always afraid that Neal would take a discipline session to heart in the wrong way, and turn away from him. Just as he was about to ask the question again, Neal bet him to it.

"I may love art dearly Peter, but I love myself more. I'm genuinely sorry and I won't do it again" he stated simply, his trademark rueful grin spreading across his handsome face. Peter breathed a private sigh of relief and felt a grin spread across his own face. Opening his arms wide, the grin gained further ground when Neal fell happily into them for their traditional "all is forgiven and forgotten" hug.

As Neal nestled his head briefly on his shoulder, Peter muttered gently to him "don't make me do that again anytime soon, you're killing me here kid" Neal broke away and mockingly stood to attention "Sir, yes Sir" he offered cheekily.

Peter narrowed his eyes in feigned annoyance, but laughed with his maddening, yet loveable rogue. Feeling his stomach growl, he realised he hadn't eaten yet. Looking dubiously around Neal's kitchen, that was littered with all kinds of fancy… _things,_ he asked"I don't suppose there's anything resembling a burger, or anything you know… _edible_ rattling around here is there?"

Neal sighed slightly at Peter's hopeless lack of refinement, but chortled. "Nope, nothing you'd consider palatable. There's a decent fast food place just over the road, I can run out?" he said politely, the ever hospitable host.

Sighing, Peter fought hard to use his "Neal voice" again.

"No, you can't I'm afraid. You're still grounded and you still owe me a mountain of cold cases. You were spanked for ducking out of a well earned punishment. That punishment is still in play I'm afraid buddy."

As Neal's face turned from cheery to pouty in almost comical time, Peter pressed on before he could get himself into any more trouble. "However, I will run out and get us food and as El's away with work, maybe I can hang here with you while you work and watch the game?"

As Neal's thick curls suddenly bounced due to his happily nodding head, Peter chuckled. The kid always liked to be near him after anytime he'd had to discipline him. Peter was secretly happy to be needed. "Ok then, I'll be back in a few minutes. When I come back, I want you working on those cases that you've abandoned over there. Clear?" Peter said sternly, gesturing to the unopened box of files that lay obviously neglected on the far corner of Neal's dining room table.

Nodding sheepishly, Neal replied "Yes Peter."

Tucking him affectionately under the chin, the older man made his way to the door. Stopping, he called over his shoulder "you can work on the couch Neal, those chairs are a bit hard" and left in search of food. About twenty minutes later, he arrived back laden down with food as well as beer for him and wine for Neal. At the sight of the boy, perched hilariously on a fluffy cushion on the couch working as instructed, Peter breathed a sigh of relief.

Dishing up food for the both of them, Peter was further relieved that Neal was full of animated chat as they ate and drank and showed no signs of being resentful about his smarting backside. Clearing away the remains of the impromptu meal, they settled on the couch for the evening. Peter happily to his game and Neal admittedly less happily to his thick stack of files. After about an hour he started shifting restlessly.

Throwing a furtive glance at the baseball engrossed older man; Neal allowed himself to lean back and close his eyes for a few moments, his hands folded neatly in his lap. Some minutes later his eyes jerked open to a stinging pain radiating from his wrist. As his eyes met Peter's, he watched as the older man glanced meaningfully at his still scorched backside, to the abandoned file in his lap.

"You know the whole _slap on the wrist thing_ is figurative right?" he huffed.

As Peter's eyes narrowed dangerously, he sat up straight and addressed the most boring cold case on the history of the earth with renewed vigour.

"I'm doing it, I'm on it" he said hastily as he felt Peter's gaze still on upon him.

Leaning back and refocusing on his game, Peter allowed himself a small grin.

 _Still got it._


End file.
